


By Your Side As The Stars Begin To Call

by ArvenaPeredhel



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, Series Rewrite, immediately El/Loren but other pairings come later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-15 10:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16931220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/pseuds/ArvenaPeredhel
Summary: Loren Fangor remembers everything. Now, years after the yeerk in her head died, she's faced with a choice: hide in the shadows, or stand with her husband and fight. (Series rewrite. Elfangor lives. Loren is an active player from the beginning.)





	1. Loren

**Author's Note:**

> This starts off in medias res, but there will be explanation later on and if you've read the series or are familiar with the canon you'll be able to follow along easily.

It all flashed through my head in an instant - years of careful invisibility, how I’d changed addresses and last names six times in the past ten years and dyed my hair a new color twice a month; days spent watching Hendrick Chapman and wondering if he remembered as I did; the first and last time I saw Esplin 9466 looking out of Alloran’s eyes and standing on my street; how I’d given everything up, even my own son, to shield him from the Sharing and protect the secret of his father’s name - and for a moment the weight of what I was risking was heavy on my shoulders. If I moved, if I spoke or said anything, my sacrifices might be meaningless.

But a damaged Andalite fighter had crashed into the dirt not five hundred feet away from me, and I couldn’t just stand by and watch it in silence. The promise I’d made to myself to protect the Time Matrix still stood, and my son…

… my son was safe halfway across the country with his aunt, buried under a false surname.

I bent down and picked up a chunk of broken concrete about the size of a baseball. The weight and sharp edges were comforting in my hand. Idly I wondered if my aim was as good now as it had been twenty years ago, and I squeezed the stone tight. Whatever came out those doors, I’d be ready for it. I’d watched from the shadows for long enough. I took a deep breath and crept forward, ducking behind piles of rubble and skeletal walls as I moved. Soon I was only a few yards from the ship. I crouched behind a pile of bricks and waited.

And then there were footsteps coming from the left, approaching the ship. They were halting and hesitant. Whoever was walking forward was afraid, or uncertain. Not what I’d expect from one of Esplin’s underlings.

“It’s safe,” a voice said, loudly and clearly. “We won’t hurt you.”

 _A child_? That surprised me. What was a kid doing in an abandoned construction site? I risked a quick peek over the top of the brick pile. No, not quite a child. A young boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with floppy blond hair. His clothes were a few sizes too big for him, though in the darkness I couldn’t tell if he was in hand-me-downs or just a grunge fan. He stood before the ship, hands outstretched. In the dim light of overhead safety lamps I could see four others behind him, all his age. None were willing to stand as close as he did.

_Controllers? No, not Controllers - if they were, they wouldn’t hide it. Not from an Andalite._

“Do you think they speak English?” another of the kids asked. I’d ducked back down, but I could hear them clearly.

A third kid laughed nervously. “Well, everyone speaks English on Star Trek.” That made me grin too in spite of myself.

“Please,” the first boy said, trying again, “come out. We won’t hurt you.”

<I know.>

My knees buckled beneath me. I tried to grab the bricks for support, but my hand slipped and I hit the dirt. I bit the inside of my lip as hard as I could to keep from crying out.

I knew that voice. I _knew_ it.

After an unbearable span of absolutely nothing, the hatch opened with a hiss and the ramp descended, flooding the half-finished buildings with unnatural light. Alien light, I thought almost giddily, and I realized I was shaking. And then I heard the sharp _tap-tap-tap-tap_ of hooves on synthetic ceramic, and then Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul stood silhouetted in the doorway to his ship.

When I saw him, I realized I’d been waiting for proof I wasn’t dreaming. Even his thought-speak I could dismiss as a trick. But my imagination couldn’t concoct this - he was taller, broader, more muscular than I’d known before. His face was more thoughtful, and his posture more assured. He’d grown into manhood, only this time not as a man. I watched, spellbound, as he ducked his head out from inside the ship and stepped onto the ramp. Did he remember me? Did he remember anything? Hendrick hadn’t seemed to when I spoke to him, but there had been something frighteningly familiar in Alloran’s - Esplin’s - eyes when I spotted him under the streetlights all those years ago. But would he have come here if he didn’t remember? But his ship had been crashing. Maybe he couldn’t choose where he landed. Maybe he’d been taken, and was a controller. The thought of my husband turned to a slave of the Yeerk Empire made me sick. I tried to comfort myself with the reminder that as far as I knew, Esplin was the only yeerk ever to take an Andalite host, but I knew my intelligence wasn’t exactly up-to-date. After all, I’d only been a controller myself for about five hours before the world’s most fortunate bus crash had cracked my skull open and left me slug-free but with a lovely scar bisecting my face.

 _If Elfangor is a controller_ , I reasoned, _I’ll find out soon enough_. So I shivered, got back up into a crouch, and watched as silently as I could from behind the bricks. The first boy was still closest to him, and he was almost smiling. Like he’d seen an old friend, or come home after a long absence. Something about the look on his face sent chills running up and down my spine.

“Hello,” he said.

<Hello,> Elfangor answered, and there was such warmth in his voice.

“Hi,” chorused the rest of the kids, still clustered a few feet behind their friend.

Elfangor took a tentative step forward, but his front legs buckled and he staggered and fell off of the ramp onto the ground. Suddenly I could clearly see the burn on his right side. It had stripped off fur and skin to reveal charred flesh beneath, and it stretched from his humanoid shoulder to the base of his tail. My heart leapt up into my throat. I wanted to run to him, or catch him, but instead I stood frozen as he crumpled into the dirt. _Morph, you idiot!_ I thought at him. But he didn’t hear me.

The first boy broke into a short run, reaching the spot where Elfangor fell. He took my husband’s hand and pulled him up, but Andalite hands and arms aren’t strong like ours and he fell back in a heap of legs and tail.

“Look, he’s hurt!” the girl from before, who’d mentioned Star Trek, cried.

<Yes. I am dying.> Elfangor intoned, and I wanted to smack him silly for being a melodramatic ass. He’d always had that tendency, but apparently years apart doing whatever one does on Andal had only made it worse. And yet I could see the severity of his injuries, could tell how they pained him. I wondered for a moment if he was being serious.

<This wound is fatal,> he said, yanking me out of my thoughts. <I will die.>

That made me angry. More than angry. How dare he, after all these years? Where did he get off, acting like he could just crash back onto my planet and into my life and do nothing except die? Did he give a damn at all what happened to me? Did any of it matter?

Clearly not, because he was sitting there telling five children about the yeerks as if he was in fact going to let himself die. I watched in speechless shock for minute after minute, my frustration building along with a growl low in my throat. Esplin was closing in, every second mattered, and he was -

\- he was sending a child into the ship… to go get an Escafil device… so he could give them the power to morph.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. But clearly I wasn’t hallucinating, because all five kids pressed their hands to the box as Elfangor did, and then they all drew back as if touched by sparks of lightning.

So. Obviously there was, in fact, morphing tech being exchanged. I wanted to scream, but if I did I had a ten percent chance of attracting Esplin here, a five percent chance of scaring the now morph-capable kids, and a one hundred percent chance of getting decapitated by my husband’s tail blade.

_Okay, fine. I’ll watch a little longer._

I sat on my heels and listened to Elfangor’s thought-speak, giving hurried and half-done explanations of how morphing worked, what the rules were, and why it was important. His audience was getting more and more scared by the second, but to their credit, they didn’t run away. Maybe there was hope for these kids after all.

But soon - far too soon - things started to really happen.

Lights appeared overhead. Not streetlights or the blue-white Andalite ship signals, but dark red dots staring out of the black. I pressed as close to the bricks as I could get. There were two of them, and I knew them: landing lights for a pair of Bug fighters.

<You must save yourselves,> Elfangor said to the kids. <Save yourselves and save your planet! The Yeerks are here.> Again I wanted to smack him for drafting children into a war, but I had to admit he had no other choice. If Esplin knew for a fact he was alive, there would be no saving the Earth. He would burn it to bits to get his revenge.

One of the kids spoke. She was tall, blonde, and determined-looking. “But how are we supposed to fight these … these Controllers?”

Good question, kid, I thought, but you’d better find an answer fast. The lights were getting closer, and behind them -

\- oh, _fuck_.

An immense black ship was descending onto the construction site, behind the Bug fighters. It looked like a double-headed axe turned on its side. I’d never seen it, but I knew it by reputation. A Blade Ship. Faster than a Skrit Na saucer, powerful enough to cripple an Andalite dome ship, and very deadly. Maybe still the only one of its kind in the whole Yeerk Empire.

And it was landing right next to where I hid.

<You must find a way,> Elfangor commanded. <Now run!>

One of the boys jerked back, shaken by the force of Elfangor’s thought-speak.

“He’s right,” he said. “Run!”

They scattered, tripping over one another in a mad scramble. All but that first boy, the blond one. He stayed by Elfangor’s side, almost stubbornly, and in return Elfangor pressed his tail blade to the boy’s forehead and closed all four of his eyes. The connection only lasted a second, and then the boy flinched back and jumped to his feet, dashing after the others. I wondered what he’d been given. Courage? Hope? Memories?

One of the Bug fighters flashed its landing light like a spotlight, catching Elfangor where he crouched. The second fighter mimicked its twin, illuminating the Andalite until he shone like a dying star. He got to his feet at last, only trembling a little, and strode around the edge of his ship until he was behind it, facing the fighters and Blade Ship as they landed.

The kids stopped running. One of them had found a hiding place, and now all five were huddled together behind a half-built concrete wall. I could see their faces if I was careful.

 _But what about you?_ I asked myself. _What are you doing here? You should be running too_. The thought made me shiver. Abandon Elfangor now, when he most needed me? No. No, I couldn’t. He was still my husband, even now.

But if I stayed here, it was only a matter of time before Esplin or his underlings found me. Especially since my brick pile wasn’t angled to shield me from prying eyes coming from the Blade Ship. I needed a better hiding place, and fast.

 _That leaves me one choice_ , I realized. _Elfangor’s fighter. It’s got weapons, so I can help him. And they won’t be looking there, at least not immediately. And the spotlights are on him, and I’m wearing all night hues…_

I knew it was a risk. I knew it. But it was more likely to work than waiting in the same place. So, as the Yeerk ships opened and spewed forth Hork-Bajir and Taxxons and humans, as Elfangor narrated the events to the horrified kids, as the Blade Ship finally dispatched Alloran/Esplin in all their horrific glory, I crept from rubble pile to rubble pile until I was at the base of the ramp into the Andalite fighter.

<Well, well.>

The sheer malevolence of Alloran/Esplin’s voice undid me. I was flat against the ramp, shaking, hoping no one saw me.

<What have we here? A meddling Andalite?> they asked mockingly. It was Alloran speaking, but the menace was all Esplin.

 _Fuck off, Visser Shithead,_ I thought venomously, and crawled up the ramp. Esplin was still gloating, but now I was safe, and I had a ship to myself, and I had a fighting chance.

 _Okay_ , I thought to myself and to the ship. _Okay. Time to do this._

I got to my feet carefully. Elfangor’s fighter was cozy, and calming, though I wondered if that was because it wasn’t actively seeking out enemy ships to shoot down. There was even a small holographic image of four Andalites against a backdrop of trees staring back at me from a corner. I recognized Elfangor, and guessed at once that this must be his family. But I had no time to dwell on that. Instead I turned to the front of the fighter, pushed down into the dirt. There was a small flat panel at waist-height facing a collection of angled points in the wall. I put my hand on the panel, and suddenly each angled point lit up.

 _< Unidentified user detected,>_ a voice said in my thoughts, and then all of a sudden the wall pushed part of itself out until a second panel was in front of me, acting like a computer screen. _< Please state your command.>_

 _Right. Thought-speak. Like everything else. Maybe thinking at it rather than generally will work?_ I closed my eyes and focused on the computer, willing my thoughts to go to it. _Hopefully even though I’m not an Andalite, I can do this…_

<Um. Turn on all guns,> I thought. _Shit, that sounded_ terrible.

 _< Query not recognized,>_ the computer answered in a pleasant high-pitched voice. It sounded vaguely like the automated prompts I listened to when calling any kind of customer service line. _< Please repeat.>_

<Power weapons?> I tried, hoping my thoughts were forceful enough. The panel in front of me lit up, displaying graphics I didn’t understand accompanied by a language I couldn’t read.

 _< State desired power level,>_ the voice ordered me politely.

<Um. Maximum.> I answered. <As high as it can go.>

One of the four graphics shifted from a sickly yellow color to bright blue like Andalite fur and grew in size to dominate the screen.

 _< Maximum power to rear shredder cannon,>_ the voice said. _< Front and side cannons disabled.>_

 _Okay_ , I decided. _I can work with that_.

<Angle cannon backwards,> I thought. <One hundred and eighty degrees.> As I made the order I suddenly wondered if an alien fighter calculated angles like we did, but after a few seconds the voice replied.

 _< Planetary database synchronization at seventy-five percent. Order given in Earth measurements. Shifting trajectory of rear shredder cannon by one hundred forty_ brweinh _. >_

That last word sounded like a noise made by a displeased horse. I shuddered - even in my thoughts, it sounded like an impossible thing and made my brain almost itch. But the command must have worked, because I could hear the whine of mechanical servos somewhere above my head.

<Target cluster of alien lifeforms and fire?> I queried a little nervously. I wasn’t quite sure what that would do, if anything, but it was worth a try.

_< Unable to comply. Please rephrase command.>_

<Target lifesigns located at the rear of the vessel?> I tried again.

_< Unable to comply. Please rephrase command.>_

I could hear Esplin talking now, lording it over the helpless Elfangor just outside the ship’s walls. My heart was pounding out of my chest. I was running out of time.

<Target the Dracon beam energy signatures, damn it!> I thought as forcefully as I could. <And if that needs rephrasing I’ll reprogram you with a fire axe!>

There was a pause, and in the silence I heard Esplin speak.

<I promise you one thing, Prince Elfangor - when we have this planet, with its rich harvest of bodies, we will move against the Andalite home world. I will personally hunt down your family. And I will personally oversee the placement of my most faithful lieutenants in their heads. I hope that they will resist, so I can hear their minds scream.>

 _Like hell you will_ , I thought privately. _I’ll die first._

 _< Ready to fire,>_ the voice told me suddenly.

<Do it.> I ordered. <Maximum strength.>

The gauge on the screen turned even deeper blue and the alien writing shifted, like a percentage getting higher and higher. Almost there, almost, and then -

_< War-Prince Alloran-Semiturr-Corass detected. Prince Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul detected. Shredder fire reduced to level five broad-spectrum stun.>_

“What?!” I demanded. “ _No_!”

And then the tail of the fighter fired its cannon with a whining _tsweee-OOOOM_ , and the shock threw me to the cream-colored floor.


	2. Loren

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been on the floor, but eventually I clawed my way to my hands and knees.

“What happened?” I muttered, forgetting that the computer only understood thought-speak, and only when my hand was on the access panel.

_< Planetary database at one hundred percent. Local time synchronization activated. Stun will lose maximum effectiveness in twenty-five minutes. Stun will lose maximum effectiveness in forty-three _rheithnu _. >_

I got back to my feet and glanced at my watch, which had somehow survived my awkward fall into alien ceramic. Well, now I knew why he was always calling them my minutes. But almost half an hour? I could do that. It was eight thirty now. I had until eight fifty-five.

Suddenly I remembered - the kids. I’d forgotten them during my haphazard attempt at killing Esplin and saving Elfangor; had they run or had they stayed behind? Were they stunned too? Were they hurt? Had he really given them the power to _morph_ , of all things?

Only one way to find out, I decided, and stuck my head out the open hatch. No sign of anyone, and no sounds of breathing or footsteps. Elfangor had told them to run, and hide; I could only hope they’d listened. I took a deep breath and stepped onto the ramp as quietly as I could. Utter silence greeted me, not even broken by moans or alien cries of pain or jumbled thought-speak. Maybe they’d done the smart thing and run. Maybe they’d been hit by whatever I’d fired.

I risked a quick look in the direction of the ruined wall I’d seen them huddle behind and saw nothing. That didn’t mean they’d gone, but it was encouraging. Could I risk just hoping they’d left? Should I go look for them? I groaned, knew that just considering my options meant I’d already made up my mind, and set off down the ramp in the direction of the wall. It didn’t take long to reach it, and I mentally chastised the five of them for choosing such an easily located hiding spot. But there was no one behind it, and no evidence that they’d fled to other foxholes in the construction site.

Okay. My adult responsibility detector was satisfied. Time to get back to the real work. I turned and ran back to the edge of the Andalite fighter, making my way around it as carefully as I could. I glanced at my watch - twenty-two more minutes. That was how much time I had to wake Elfangor, get him to morph human, and get out. As I came around the edge of the ship I wondered what, exactly, a level five broad-spectrum stun did, only to find the answer staring me in the face.

Some fifty or sixty unconscious bodies lay between Elfangor’s downed craft and the three-point phalanx of Bug fighters and Blade Ship. They’d fallen where they stood, dropping Dracon beams and shredders on the gravel. Taxxon, Hork-Bajir, human -

\- and, at the forefront of the mass, two Andalites.

The focal point of the beam had struck Alloran and Esplin right in the chest. I could see where it had burned fur and left faint traces of blood. I thought about kicking him for good measure, but didn’t. Instead I bent down by his head and spoke quietly.

“Hey,” I whispered. Alloran was breathing, but his eyes were closed and he showed no signs of consciousness. Even if Esplin were awake, maybe he couldn’t move his host body while it was stunned.

Or he could be faking it.

I stepped over Alloran’s body, walked up to a stunned Hork-Bajir host/yeerk pair, picked up the Dracon beam they’d dropped in the dirt, stepped back over Alloran/Esplin, and leveled the weapon at their shared chest.

“Hey,” I said, a little louder, and then I shouted. “Hey! Slugbrain!”

Silence from Alloran/Esplin, and silence from everyone else too. I began to wonder if I could stand here and bang rocks together while screaming bloody murder and get no response at all for another - I checked my watch - twenty minutes.

I could kill them, I realized suddenly. I could shoot them dead, or stab them through the hearts, or bash their head against the ground. Do that and the war’s radically different, and maybe even over for a little while. Long enough to find Tobias and get offplanet, at least. The thought made the hair on my arms stand up.

Of course, I thought in response, I can’t shoot a Dracon beam. Can’t shoot a shredder either. And for all I know, stabbing an Andalite in the chest won’t kill him, and maybe bashing his head in will just make the stun let up.

<Unhh,> Elfangor groaned from behind me, and the un-sound inside my head startled me out of my thoughts and into a shriek. I jumped, too, landing an involuntary kick on Alloran/Esplin’s leg. Once I realized what I’d done, I gave them another, firmer one for good measure. _If I can’t kill you, I can at least kick you while you’re down. (Sorry, Alloran…)_

Elfangor groaned again. He was stirring slowly, face taut with pain. _The burn on his side!_ I realized, and moved to kneel by his ear.

“Come on,” I said, as urgently as I could. “You have to get up.”

<Don’t… don’t want - >

“You have to get up, and morph. You’re gonna die if you don’t and we don’t have much time.” We had nineteen minutes. I hoped it was enough.

<Who are you?> he asked me, green eyes and stalk eyes slowly focusing on my half-shadowed face.

“I’m a friend. I have a place you can stay. I swear to God I’m not a Controller. But we have to go. Now.”

I grabbed his arm, high up near the elbow, and pulled. He’d fallen with his hooves under him, but the stun beam had left him a little unsure of what to do with his legs and he staggered as he got up. He was morphing as he moved, flesh melting and bones protruding. I had to turn my back until the awful squicks and clicks were finished. He’d taken the form of what looked like a bird, only with four wings and a razor-sharp beak.

<What happened?> he asked, and started back when he saw Alloran/Esplin lying unconscious in front of him. <Visser Three!>

“A level five broad-spectrum stun,” I answered, and cringed away as he started to morph again. Once he’d finished I continued speaking. “We’ve got a few more minutes before they all wake up. I suggest we use them to get out of here.”

<Or I could use them to kill Visser Three,> Elfangor said, newly himself again, and there was a hard edge in his voice I didn’t like to hear. I turned to look at him and he angled his stalk eyes at me.

“You’d do that?” I asked, ignoring the fact that I’d considered the same thing. “Just shoot him?”

<Why not? He destroyed my Dome Ship. He - he killed my brother.>

_Brother? Fucking hell_. Alan - Elfangor - had loved talking about Aximili-to-come, all those years ago, and he’d told me more than once that his greatest regret was never getting to meet his younger sibling.

<I could end this war right now,> he continued. <Would you stop me?>

“Would I have a reason to?”

<I could make it right. I could ->

I passed him the Dracon beam.

“If you’re going to do this,” I said flatly, “make it quick. We only have ten minutes left.”

He stared at me. I wondered if I’d passed some sort of test. My heart burned at the thought of murdering Alloran like that, but I had no other answer, and protesting on behalf of an angry and disreputable old Andalite veteran would only make me look more suspicious than I already was. So I said nothing as Elfangor checked that the safety was off, spun the dial to a new power setting, and pointed the beam right at Alloran/Esplin’s head.

He stood there, silent, watching and waiting, for three precious minutes. I could feel the seconds passing. Finally, he dropped the Dracon beam into the dirt without a word and kicked it toward the unconscious host/yeerk pairs.

<I’m a warrior,> he said to no one in particular, or perhaps to Esplin. <Not a murderer.>

He turned on his hooves and trotted to his fighter, moving lightly and easily now that the burn was gone.

“But your brother!” I called, risking a glance at my watch. Seven minutes.

<I’ll fight him again, and face him again.> Elfangor said from inside the ship.<Aximili will have justice. As will all my murdered soldiers.>

He emerged from the hatch again holding a rough canvas bag. I wondered briefly what was in it, but said nothing as he slid the strap over one shoulder.

<I’ve set the self-destruct,> he said to me, coming down the ramp one last time. <My ship’s engines will detonate when the stun begins to wear off. With luck, Visser Three will be caught in the blast.>

“And we’ll be well away,” I added. “Five minutes, you said?”

“Five of your minutes, yes.”

I smiled at him despite myself.

<Now,> he said, not looking at me long enough to catch my grin. <You said you had a place I could go.>

"I do," I said. "But you'll need a form that can climb stairs a bit more effectively than this one."


	3. Loren

“We’re here,” I said, pointing up at the squat brick building I lived in. “I’m on the third floor.”

<No house?> Elfangor asked. He was perched on my shoulder, once again in the shape of that bird. We’d taken the bus home with him wrapped in my sweater like a baby, and thankfully no one had noticed. _Unless they did, and they just thought I had an incredibly ugly baby. Well, if that's what happened, kudos to them for being polite? I guess?_

“Not all humans live in houses,” I said, and then barely stopped myself before _‘you should remember that, Al, you hated our first place’_ could slip out. I wanted to be sure he remembered, be sure he knew, before I said anything. Instead I pulled out my keys and unlocked the outside door. “And I might have a job but it’s not gonna pay for a mortgage, you know?”

<What do you do?> he asked as I pulled the door open and stepped into the narrow hallway. It wasn’t really late - almost ten o’clock - but I still moved quietly. Mrs. Pickard, in the room by the door, worked early.

“I do price management at a grocery store,” I whispered. “It’s a good job, and they don’t mind if I move around a lot, you know?”We mounted the stairs, and Elfangor’s talons dug into my shoulder. “Besides, I’d get bored in an office.”

<Why do you move around so often?>

I paused on the second floor landing. It was an innocent enough question, but the answer was complicated. I shrugged off my concerns and kept climbing.

“I’ll tell you in a second,” I said. “It’s not the kind of thing I want people hearing, you know? They’ll think I’m crazy and talking to myself.”

<You already give that impression; I’m speaking to you privately.>

“Thanks for that,” I shot back, finally reaching my floor. “Don’t you have a human shape? It’s not like - I mean, if you’re gonna be stranded here, you really should blend in.”

There was a long pause as I walked down the hallway to my apartment, but by the time I’d fished my keys out of their concealed pocket he made an un-sound very like a sigh.

<I have a human shape, yes.> He didn’t sound happy to be reminded of it.

“Jeez," I answered. "If it’s so unbearable, forget I asked.”

I got the door open and the two of us stepped into the dark front room of my apartment. Elfangor fluttered from my shoulder to the floor and instantly began to demorph. I wondered for a moment if the floors could take his weight before reasoning that I had a whole refrigerator in my kitchen and it certainly weighed more than he did. This time, as flesh melted together and blood and bone bulged in barely-contained sacs, I almost managed to watch. But when his outstretched wings turned back into skeletonized fingers that poked through his feathers I almost threw up, and decided to retreat into the kitchen. I never could take seeing the morphing. He’d always laughed at me.

“Do you want food?” I called, pulling open my pantry door and eyeballing its contents. “I don’t have much, but I could make pasta.” When there was no answer, I rolled my eyes and got up on tiptoe to clear out the space in front of my giant bag of elbow macaroni. Anything I made would be good enough for Elfangor. He’d eaten napkins once and said they were almost as good as grass, and then wondered why he was picking pieces of paper out of his teeth for days.

There was a sound of dulled hoofsteps. I realized he’d come up behind me into the kitchen.

“I’ve got olive oil and a few Italian seasonings, and canned chicken and mozzarella,” I said, glancing back over my shoulder. “I could - !”

It happened almost before I was really aware of it. Elfangor’s tail snaking its way up over my shoulders and neck to rest, curled on itself, with the blade at my throat. His arms wrapping around my chest and pulling me off balance, leaving me pressed awkwardly against his powerful legs. His stalk eyes, blazing with anger, arching down to glare at me.

<Tell me, Yeerk,> he said, and if he’d spoken it would have been a snarl, <where’s the real Visser Three?>

I yelped and dropped the box of instant grits I’d been holding.

“You saw him!” I said, my voice trembling. “We were there. You were there. You aimed a gun at his head!”

He laughed, and the un-sound was very different from any noise I’d heard him make before. <You really, truly think that I’m so easily fooled? That I’d fail to recognize a trap when I saw it?>

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He was going to kill me. He thought I was a Controller and he was going to kill me, my _husband_ was going to kill me, unless I said something that made him stop.

“Why didn’t you say something at the construction site?” I asked desperately. “Or... or on our way back to my place?” That was a bad question, and I knew it, but I had to keep him talking. Maybe if I did that, he'd at least let me go.

<I wanted to ensure we weren’t being watched,> he informed me coldly. <But I’ve seen the lack of security you have in these rooms, and I’m satisfied you can't call for help with anything on your person.> His tail curled closer about my throat, the blade cold on my skin. <Tell me, slug, or I shall make your death a torment to be whispered of in pools across the galaxies. You think me a naive fool, but be assured: I am still the Beast. I earned every curse your kind has heaped upon me. Your people killed my brother and severed me from my wife and child. _I will have my revenge_.>

His last sentence was a steely, burning promise, but I barely heard the anger in it. I tried to twist to one side and look at his face properly. Instead my knees went weak and my vision blurred as his grip on my throat tightened further. Wife and child. Wife and child. He remembered. My heart was pounding, and my breathing was labored, but none of that mattered. He remembered. He _remembered_ me.

“Elfangor,” I tried again, “Elfangor please, I’m not - !”

The blade shifted, slicing a shallow line across my neck. I froze. My legs totally gave out from under me. I would have fallen, throat torn out by my own damn husband, if he hadn’t caught me and held me upright. There were spots in my eyes, and the world was going dim, but I still had time to think that he was far stronger than he had been when I last saw him in Andalite shape.

<Unless the next words out of your mouth are the location of your communicator and Dracon beam,> he growled, <I do not want to hear it.>

I opened my mouth to say something, anything -

\- and then the world went totally black, and I was shoved into unconsciousness.


	4. Loren

There was a sharp pain in my ribs, though not enough to cause serious concern. As I came to, I realized it was joined by itchy stinging at my wrists and ankles, but before I could really think on it I heard Elfangor’s thought-speak in my head.

<You. Up.>

It wasn’t a request.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” I groaned, and opened my eyes. I was lying facedown on threadbare carpet, my limbs reaching up over my back. A few experimental tugs told me they were in fact secured together, and this was the source of the odd pain in my hands.

<You are helpless, yeerk,> Elfangor continued. I could see his hooves in front of my face. Ah, yes. The ongoing question of whether or not I was a Controller.

Groaning, I craned my neck to one side, twisting my face up so I could see all of him at once.

“Look,” I said, “I’m not a Controller. There’s no slug in my brain.”

<And you expect me to believe that why?>

“Because I’m not screaming about how you’re Andalite filth, maybe?” I asked him. “Or because I let you into my house?”

<As I said before, I’m not an idiot. You could be part of a trap.>

“I also could be a Rockette at Radio City Music Hall, but nope, I’m just your average retail drone.” I said. I could see his tail blade shifting and angling. I knew I was basically on borrowed time.

“Look,” I tried again. “Let me prove it to you. Prove I’m not infested.”

All four of his eyes narrowed sharply. <How?>

“I’ve got a three day weekend coming up,” I said. “I racked up overtime at work. Stay here with me for all three days, and at the end you’ll know there’s no yeerk.”

<And wait for you to murder me in my sleep, or infest me as well? Hardly.>

“Lock me in the bathroom,” I argued, getting a little desperate. “There aren’t any windows to escape out of. The mirror is plastic and set in the wall, so I can’t use it to cut myself. And if you sleep in front of the door, you’ll know if I try anything.”

I hoped he’d at least think on it. My hands were starting to fall asleep.

<How do I know this isn’t a trick?> he asked at last.

“You don’t,” I admitted, “but if it’s a trick it’s a really dumb one. I’ve given you the perfect way to guard me.”

There was a long silence. I sat my head back down on the floor. Well, if I die, I die knowing he came back...

Thwip!

A sudden stinging sensation danced down my hands, and my arms and legs thudded to the ground. My wrists and ankles were still taped, but they weren’t stuck together anymore.

<Free yourself,> Elfangor ordered, and I could see him carefully examining his tail blade for blood. <I searched the bathroom while you were unconscious. You’re right. It’s an ideal place to wait out an infestation. But I have no desire to carry you there, either in this shape or my human one.>

“It’s ideal if one is infested in the first place,” I said, and sat up awkwardly. “Which I’m not.” My throat itched as I pulled my arms down around my head. I remembered with a jolt of fear that it had been cut, and my hands jerked upward instinctively to find a square of gauze taped neatly over the wound. Bewildered, I looked back up at Elfangor.

“Why would you help me if you’re convinced I’m a Controller?”

He angled his stalk eyes at me. <I am not needlessly cruel.>

“No,” I agreed, and lowered my hands to try and find the edge of the tape that was still wrapped around my ankles. They hadn’t been really taped, just hoisted up and stuck to my hands. “You’re definitely not that. But you’re no fool either, or else that’s what you keep saying.”

That seemed to please him. <Call me sentimental. I can easily overpower you if you attack me, and I will admit, if you are a Yeerk you are the best actor I’ve met,> he said. <Most of your brethren cannot control their hatred. Or their fear.>

“Most Yeerk/host pairs are. Well. You know. Yeerk/host pairs. There’s gotta be a Yeerk in there to show fear at all,” I answered in between tugs at the tape. Once my legs were free I could brace against my feet and hopefully loosen my hands. Or my husband, who hogtied me so thoroughly, could do something to help.

<This, at least, is undeniably true.> he said, and I exhaled in a huff of frustration.

“I never can tell if you’re being serious or not. Andalite humor and Earth humor never mix and oh motherfucker!” I swore, and raised an accusatory eyebrow at him as I worked on my ankles. “I swear, it’s like picking locks in a Sierra game except blindfolded! You could have tied me up with a little less extreme prejudice, you know!”

When Elfangor wasn’t ready with a biting retort, I looked up at him. He was staring at me, face pale, looking like he’d been hit over the head with something heavy.

<I... you...> he began, taking a few steps back but still staring at me like I was a ghost. <What did you say your name was?>

I grimaced and finally (finally!) managed to get my ankles free. “You didn’t ask,” I said to him, my eyes not leaving his as I pinned an edge of the tape that bound my wrists between my shoes. “So I didn’t say.” This was far easier than my ankles had been. I moved my arms in an awkward circle and quickly unwound the long strip of duct tape, and as I did I grinned at him. “But fair’s fair, I guess. I know all about you, so you ought to know all about me. I’ll start with the first question you asked: I move around so much because I don’t want Esplin 9466 to find me. I don’t want him to find me because he doesn’t like me. He doesn’t like me because I threw a rock at his head. I threw a rock at his head because he was trying to kill me and my future husband, and he was doing that because we were trying to stop him from fucking up the universe with a time machine.” I freed myself from the last of the tape and jumped up to my feet. The smile on my face had turned bittersweet, and now there were tears in my eyes.

“As for the name,” I said, still staring right at Elfangor, “I’m Loren Fangor. And... and honestly, Alan? I never thought I’d see you again.”


End file.
